


but i'm reflecting light

by runphoebe



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Pack Dynamics, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 23:08:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9039824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runphoebe/pseuds/runphoebe
Summary: Patrick’s memory exists in fragments in the days after he meets Jonathan Toews.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elenamichaels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenamichaels/gifts).



> An alternate summary for this could be: four times where Patrick thinks he doesn't want to be Jonny's soulmate, and one where he decides it's actually kind of okay. 
> 
> Written for the 1988 "A Very Kazer Christmas" Fic Exchange, in response to the prompt:
> 
>  
> 
> _Werewolf AU: Patrick gets lost in Chicago late at night after having just moved there for college when he gets bitten by Jonny, who is the alpha of his pack, after Jonny was inexplicably drawn to Patrick. And this could go a lot of different ways, I would kind of love to see Jonny, who’s usually very in control of his instincts, unable to help himself with Patrick because they’re soulmates and some A/B/O dynamics. Also how Patrick adapts to life as a werewolf, whether he thrives under the new changes or struggles to adapt and maybe sometimes even resents Jonny for it._
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you so much to elenamichaels for the amazing prompts!! It was nearly impossible to choose, but I haven't given werewolves a go since the ole Teen Wolf days, and this prompt just SPOKE to me. I went with a 5-plus-1 ish format here. Thank you also to the mods for running the excellent exchange <3 <3

i. _first moon_

 

Patrick’s memory exists in fragments in the days after he meets Jonathan Toews. He remembers the pain - of course; the white-hot burn of it and the acrid taste in his mouth and the fundamental shifting of his biology.

He remembers waking up with an attractive boy knelt over him, holding a cool washcloth to his forehead and hushing him gently when he tries to cry out.

“ - what the hell you were thinking, Jonny,” Patrick hears a voice say. It’s not coming from the boy above him, but Patrick moans in pain when he tries to shift around on the couch to identify the owner. “Tonight, of all nights?”

“It wouldn’t have happened any other night,” the boy - Jonny, Patrick supposes, growls. He seems anything but intimidating to Patrick, but when the other guy starts to argue, Jonny quiets him easily with a warning snarl. It’s a fucking bizarre act of silently communication that Patrick doesn’t understand and can barely parse, eyes only managing to stay half open as he finds himself being dragged unwillingly toward sleep.

“He’s gonna have it fuckin’ rough is all I’m saying,” the other guy says. Patrick’s eyes slit open enough to see Jonny’s lips narrow into a thin, unhappy line. “Getting changed on the full moon? That’s gonna be pretty fucking rough.”

Patrick’s just gearing up to ask them what the hell they’re talking about when exhaustion courses through him and sleep pulls him back in.

*

Patrick learns later that the other guy’s name is Patrick Sharp, and he’s second in command of the Toews Pack out of Chicago. Jonny and half the dudes he runs with sound Canadian as hell, but he’s established his territory in the city well enough that Patrick thinks he must’ve been here for a few years at least.

Patrick learns a lot of things, actually, like how the slightest elevation of his heart rate makes lethal looking claws spike from his fingertips, and how he spent the whole full moon trying to tear apart Jonny and Patrick-call-me-Sharpy. How Jonny’s never bitten anyone without their consent before, but something about Patrick’s scent had driven him out of control.

It’s not that Patrick’s unfamiliar with werewolves - one of his best buddies back home was a beta, and Patrick was always jealous of him for getting to miss school on the full moon - but he’s never had any interest in becoming one either. He’s always been just fine being Patrick Kane, human being extraordinaire. He doesn’t need to be bigger and faster and stronger, because he already _is_ all of those things, and without the excessive facial hair and monthly PMS from hell.

He doesn’t want any of this shit. He doesn’t want to be bound to some dumbass, brutish alpha who couldn’t control himself for long enough to let Patrick walk by him on the street. He’s eighteen years old, damn it. He’s just moved out of his house and to a new city and college was supposed to be the time for Patrick to get his sexual freak on.

It’s not like Jonny’s not a nice enough guy - twenty-five and finishing grad school for something called forensic accounting, which sounds incredibly boring to Patrick - but Patrick resents the inevitability of it. He resents that he’d probably have been drawn to Jonny anyway, no matter how the universe chose to throw them together since he’s painfully Patrick’s type, thick all through his body with these intense eyes Patrick can’t look away from.

“That’s the soulmate thing,” Sharpy comments. Patrick hums distractedly, then tears his gaze away from Jonny’s face. “The whole gazing into each other’s eyes shit,” he clarifies.

Patrick rolls his eyes, fingers flying automatically to the still healing claiming mark on his neck, and pretends not to notice when a flash of hurt passes across Jonny’s face.

*

“Whoaaa,” Shawzy breathes when Patrick tugs his collar down over his shoulder to show him the bite mark. Shawzy’s Patrick’s new roommate, and they’ve known each other for a cumulative total of two weeks, 4 Facebook messages about who was bringing the mini-fridge and who was bringing the TV, and one case of Natty Light.

He doesn’t know what makes him show Shawzy the mark, except he needs an explanation for why he’s been gone for four days without calling.

Shawzy reaches forward to poke it, and Patrick draws away reflexively, smoothing his collar back down. “Does it hurt?” Shawzy asks curiously.

“No, I just -,” Patrick hesitates. He doesn’t know how to explain himself without lending the mark an intimacy that he doesn’t want to give it. Jonny had touched it earlier, just a gentle, unconscious brush of his fingers over the pierced and healed skin, and it had nearly sent Patrick to his knees right in the foyer of Jonny’s apartment.

It makes something fiercely protective well up in Patrick’s chest at the thought of Shawzy getting anywhere close, and he fucking hates himself for that.

“Yeah, it’s a little sore, I guess,” Patrick finally says.

“Damn, bro,” Shawzy says sympathetically. “You need a Natty?”

Patrick nods, reflexes lightning quick as he reaches out to catch the can Shawzy tosses him. He doesn’t think he can actually get drunk anymore, but maybe going through the motions of drinking a beer will help him just as much, like people who drink decaf coffee in the morning.

“Hey,” Shawzy says suddenly, contemplative. “You’re not gonna, like, eat me in the middle of the night, are you?”

Patrick rolls his eyes and pops his claws, slicing a clean cut through the aluminum tab of his beer can.

 

ii. _second moon_

 

“Shouldn’t we, like, be eating rabbits and shit?” Patrick asks, pacing a tiny path on Jonny’s bedroom floor. It’s his second full moon, but the first he’s been fully conscious for, and he can feel the anticipation of it buzzing between his skin. It’s pissing him off that Jonny’s sitting at his desk, calmly annotating a textbook for an assignment that’s due tomorrow while Patrick feels like he needs to go run three miles or kill a punching bag or scream at the top of his lungs.

“Do you want to eat a raw rabbit?” Jonny asks skeptically, not looking up from his book. “I think you’ve been watching too much Teen Wolf.”

Patrick ignores that. “Where’s the red meat? I thought you were supposed to be a werewolf, Jonathan.”

“I think there’s a ribeye in my freezer,” Jonny answers, pushing his reading glasses up his nose. Apparently, being a werewolf doesn’t make one immune to grad school eye-strain.

“Ha-fucking-ha,” Patrick snarks, grabbing the remote and turning on Jonny’s tv, flipping through the channels before he settles on Mythbusters. He keeps the volume on low in deference to Jonny’s studying, and he can still hear the muted hum of the rest of Jonny’s pack milling around his apartment.

Patrick had assumed that the full moon in a city meant finding a park or driving out to the suburbs to go run, but Jonny’d quickly explained that the pack spends full moons at his place, curled up on a sea of pillows and blankets on the floor like some kind of giant cuddle orgy. Being in the living room with the pack had felt uncomfortable, which is why Patrick's loitering awkwardly in Jonny's room, staring at the pile of laundry on Jonny's chair.

Patrick snorts. “You're kinda messy for such a control freak,” he comments when he notices the stash of used coffee mugs on Jonny's desk.

“I'm sure you're the picture of tidiness,” Jonny remarks.

“Yeah, bitch,” Patrick says, reaching forward for a fist bump as he passes Jonny's desk chair. Jonny grabs his wrist instead, thumbing over his pulse point before Patrick pulls away.

“What the fuck,” Patrick spits irritatedly, rubbing his wrist where Jonny had touched it.

“Your heart’s racing,” Jonny says, spinning around in his chair to look Patrick in the eye for the first time all night. “I can’t focus on anything else.”

“I’m jumpin’ outta my skin, man,” Patrick confesses before he can stop himself. “How the fuck do you do this every goddamn month.”

Jonny stands, walking over to Patrick and pushing his glasses on top of his head. Patrick’s already enhanced senses are even further sensitized around the full moon, he’s discovering, and Jonny’s spicy-soft scent invades his awareness. He can hardly stop himself from burying his face in Jonny’s chest, nosing up to his neck where the scent’s the strongest. Patrick jumps minutely when Jonny picks up his hand, placing it over the expanse of his left pec.

“Feel that?” he murmurs. Once Patrick focuses, he notices the complete lack of urgency in Jonny’s heartbeat, and the steadying thrum-thrum of it. Jonny’s body is being lit up with the same tug of instinct as Patrick’s, but he’s externalizing none of it.

“Already knew you were a better werewolf than me,” Patrick says grumpily.

“Not better,” Jonny corrects. “Just been one longer.”

Which is true. Jonny’s got six years on Patrick and he’s a born wolf, originally out of a pack in Manitoba.

“Yeah, well,” Patrick grumbles. Jonny’s thumb strokes soothingly over the web of skin between Patrick’s thumb and forefinger. “This fucking sucks.”

“You’re a good wolf, Patrick,” Jonny tells him. “You’ve got good instinct. You just need to learn to relax, okay? I’m going to help you with that.”

*

Patrick’s not sure if ‘relax’ is a euphemism until he ends up with his dick in Jonny’s mouth, fucking up into the hot, wet cavern of his throat as tears pour from Jonny’s eyes. Jonny’s holding him in with strong hands on his ass cheeks, demanding that Patrick give him more every time he starts to let up.

He really fucking hopes Jonny doesn’t have any expectations that Patrick’s going to be able to pay him back in kind. He can suck a dick as well as the next guy, but this is fucking pornography.

“ _Jonny_ ,” he whines, fingers tangling in Jonny’s hair. “Holy shit, Jon, Jon.”

It’s only been a matter of minutes, but Patrick’s already pulling Jonny off and spilling across his face. He looks pretty as hell with those cock-sucking lips and flushed cheeks painted with Patrick’s come.

“Better?” Jonny asks when he rises, knees creaking ominously. Patrick’s confused until he presses his palm against Patrick’s chest. His heart is racing with the force of his orgasm, but the frantically arrhythmic pace of before is gone.

“Get the fuck over here,” Patrick says in answer, pushing Jonny flat on the bed and popping the button on his jeans before Jonny even has a chance to laugh. It’s a shitty fucking idea and Patrick knows it, giving Jonny this when he’s not prepared to give him anything else, but, _fuck_ , Patrick really wants it.

 

iii. _eleventh moon_

 

The sex isn’t the problem- it’s easy for Patrick to think that when he’s still pulling out of Jonny’s tight, slick hole, dick barely softened as he watches his own come slip down Jonny’s thighs. He collapses on his back on his mattress just as Jonny relaxes the arch of his back and lets his hips fall to the bed. The shitty twin-sized bed can’t nearly contain the width of them, and Patrick ends up pressed uncomfortably against the wall while Jonny settles into a careless sprawl.

It twinges at every instinct Patrick has, the way that Jonny so easily claims his space on Patrick’s bed, unconcerned with the way he’s forcing Patrick to occupy as little ground as possible. Patrick doesn’t know what he’s asking for when he’s like this; whether he just wants Patrick’s submission or if it’s his fucked up way of tricking Patrick into post-sex cuddling.

Either way, Patrick maximizes the distance between them and gives Jonny nothing but a light slap on the ass, whistling appreciatively as it jiggles beneath his touch. His dick responds in kind, firming up slightly against his thigh as he feels between Jonny’s cheeks just to dip his fingers into the wetness of his hole.

“You just fucking came in me,” Jonny grunts, acting all put out even though Patrick can feel his hole pulsing with arousal against his fingertips. He can smell his come and Jonny’s body heat, and the way anticipation floods the still air suspended between them.

“You know Patrick Kane can go all night, baby,” Patrick says, rolling over to cover Jonny with his body. The expanse of Jonny’s back is tempting as hell, and Patrick finds himself particularly endeared with the straight cut of his hairline, skin baby-soft and smooth. Before he can think about it, he sinks his teeth into the flex of muscle where Jonny’s shoulder meets his neck, careful to keep his canines blunt even as Jonny pushes into it, pushes against it. The matching mark on Patrick’s neck throbs.

He can feel it exactly - the moment Jonny’s had enough of his shit. As strong as Patrick is, he’s got nothing on Jonny’s alpha muscle and it’s easy enough for Jonny to flip Patrick over and reverse their positions until Patrick’s caught between the cage of his arms. It feels precarious; Patrick’s entire body is tensed as he waits to see whether Jonny will close his mouth around the claiming mark on Patrick’s neck. The base instincts in Patrick are screaming for him to submit, but Patrick resists. He fucking hates the mark on his neck, and he hates the power it gives Jonny over him, and he hates how it’s changed everything about his world.

“That’s the full moon talking,” Jonny says, skimming his lips down the shell of Patrick’s ear. Patrick shivers, groaning in embarrassment as he releases a flood of slick. Jonny’s touching him so tenderly with the plush purse of his lips that Patrick feels like dying. It’s hardly enough contact to register, but it sets Patrick’s nerves alight.

“Fuck you,” Patrick moans weakly, thighs spreading helplessly apart. Jonny settles between them, dick hard as it rides Patrick’s crease, and sticky with the remnants of his first load. “That the fucking full moon talking?” he asks as he squeezes his cheeks around Jonny’s cock, reminding him that Patrick’s not the only affected one.

“You know it isn’t,” Jonny murmurs, lapping over the claiming mark with the flat of his tongue. Patrick buries his face in his pillow, disgusted with himself with the way his hole goes wet and loose - from the suggestion of Jonny’s words, from the sandpaper-pressure of his tongue, from their combined scent soaked into his pillowcase, Patrick isn’t even sure. The onslaught of stimulation is bearing down on him from all directions.

“Fuck you,” Patrick says again, weakly, ass pushing up, open.. Fuck Jonny for trying to make something of this soulmates thing, and fuck him for turning Patrick’s body into a catalyst of betrayal. “Fuck _me,_ ” he groans when the head of Jonny’s dick catches on his rim a few times. Patrick thinks it’ll be quick for Jonny to get inside and quick for both of them to come even though they just did a few moments ago.

“ _Patrick_ ,” Jonny grunts, pushing his cock against Patrick’s hole until it goes easy and open for him, coating Patrick’s thighs and the length of Jonny’s shaft in slick. “Patrick, _god_ ,” Jonny continues, breath humid against the curve of Patrick’s throat.

It’s ridiculously good. Patrick doesn’t know what’s better: fucking Jonny or getting fucked by him.

There’s nothing in the world like being buried in Jonny’s ass, palming his cheeks open and thumbing at the stretch of his hole. He loves getting Jonny on his back or on his belly, eating his ass until he cries, loose enough to take Patrick's cock without a single finger, and he loves the way Jonny doesn't mind rolling over for him, even though Patrick's never seen him submit for anyone else.

But there's also nothing in the world like this: letting Jonny in somewhere he's never let anyone else, biting the muscled flesh of Jonny's forearm as the impact of his dick against Patrick's prostate wrenches cries from his chest, swallowing against the thick weight of emotion in his throat.

“Patrick,” Jonny sighs his name like a benediction, tender when he catches Patrick's lips with his own. “How can you not - How can you-,”

Jonny can't finish his sentence, trailing off with a thready groan, but Patrick knows what he's trying to say. How can Patrick not be grateful for what they've been given? Why can't Patrick see how good it would be?

_Why can't Patrick see how good it would be?_

“Jonny,” Patrick protests, voice breaking. It's hard not to get tangled in the swell of Jonny's emotions and the emergence of his own. “Jonny, baby, don't -don't do this to me. ”

Jonny laughs, ugly, before Patrick twists his neck uncomfortably to catch him in another kiss. He knows he's sending Jonny these mixed fucking signals right now, but he can't help it. Everything that his heart wants and everything that his body wants is at odds with his brain, and Patrick's not sure which going to win.

In that moment, he’s overtaken by the crescendo of his orgasm, balls tightening and releasing as he spills his load into the mattress beneath him. He can feel his ass pulse around Jonny’s cock, drawing Jonny’s hot come out of him just moments after Patrick’s finished convulsing. He’s grateful for the timing of it, relieved not to have to face the depth of his feelings for Jonny until they fuck again.

Patrick lets Jonny envelope his body for a few quiet minutes, feeling inundated with the sounds of street noise, and Jonny’s slowing breath. Jonny’s dick is softening in his hole, and a trickle of sticky come runs out when it slips free, tickling his thigh. Patrick is struck with a sense of deja vu, drawn into the memory of watching his own come paint Jonny’s ass cheeks not half an hour ago.

He nudges Jonny when the sweat between them starts to dry and stick.

“Yeah,” Jonny says, lifting off and rising from the bed. “Patrick, I-,”

He pauses. Patrick focuses on a spot directly above his forehead and tries not to let his eyes well with tears. Why the fuck can’t Patrick see how good it would be? Why can’t he let himself have that?

“I’m gonna go,” Jonny finishes. “Lotta homework.”

“Yeah,” Patrick answers, already rolling over with his back to the door. “See you around.”

So, the sex isn’t a problem, except in the way it reminds Patrick of everything else that is.

 

iv. _twelfth moon_

 

The bar Patrick goes to the night of the full moon is sketchy enough to let Patrick in, even though he’s nineteen and looks every bit of it. They let him have PBR, too, and Patrick drinks one after another, imagining what it would be like to be able to get drunk.

He thinks maybe it’s good that he can’t do anything more than vaguely recall the headrush of a beer buzz, because he’s got a million and one reasons to drink right now and self-control isn’t always his strong-suit. Why else would he keep coming back for more with Jonny when he knows it’s killing the both of them?

“Another, bud?” the bartender asks when Patrick finishes off his first bottle. Patrick shrugs morosely. “Girl problems?”

Patrick grunts. “Guy problems,” he corrects. The bartender gives him a sympathetic wince. He’s about to launch into a sob story, feeling just sorry enough for himself to spill his guts to a stranger, when he sees Sharpy walk through the door.

“No fucking way this was a lucky guess,” Patrick says suspiciously when Sharpy takes a seat next to him. The bar’s not near Jonny’s apartment or Patrick’s school.

Sharpy waves his cell phone around. “Tracked your phone,” he says. “Got the whole pack on a network.”

“Fucking freaks,” Patrick mutters.

“Yeah,” Sharpy agrees. “So why you giving Jonny Toews a hard time, Patty-boy?”

“Not giving him a hard time,” Patrick says through grit teeth. “Ask Jonny Toews why he can’t give me some fucking space.”

“He _is_ giving you space,” Sharpy says. “Why do you think I’m here?”

Patrick stares at him sharply. As much pushback as he gives Jonny, he’s not used to Jonny ever giving up on him.

“You better make up your mind, kiddo,” Sharpy says, grabbing Patrick’s beer and chugging the rest of it. “Jonny’s got a lot of patience for you, but we’re all human.”

 

+

 

_“Hey,” Patrick says, calling out for Jonny. He could get off the couch and go to the kitchen, but he’s burrowed under the softest wool blanket Jonny got him last Christmas, and his ankles are swollen as shit. “C’mere.”_

_Jonny grunts. He’s diligently making Patrick a smoothie, measuring out the precise amount of blueberries. If there’s anything Jonny hates, it’s being interrupted when he’s making Patrick’s smoothies._

_“Hey, Jon, c’mere,” he calls again, turning up the volume on Law & Order SVU when Jonny turns the blender on. It runs for a few moments before Jonny’s filling a cup to bring to Patrick. _

_“Flaxseeds,” he says when Patrick eyes the brown speckles suspiciously._

_“Whatever,” Patrick says, setting it on the coffee table. “Hey, c’mere,” he repeats, reaching for Jonny’s hand. Jonny lets him take it, opening his palm flat when Patrick presses it against his swollen belly. “Feel that?” he asks, grinning._

_The baby’s been kicking up a storm for days now, giving Patrick’s ribcage hell, but this is the first time he’s been able to feel it from the outside. The first time_ Jonny’s _been able to feel it._

_Jonny inhales sharply, clutching at Patrick’s stomach like a lifeline. “Holy shit, Patrick,” he swallows, voice thick. “Holy fucking shit, is that-?”_

*

Patrick wakes up. He knows what he wants.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know if you enjoyed :)


End file.
